Construct

by Luke Matthews

  “Samuel and I had a discus—an argument—about that very subject. Look, we’re all in this because of Samuel, but we all made these choices on our own, right? The consequences are more than any of us expected, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have the right to that bit of anger. All that matters is how we act on it…you just can’t let it fester. You have to—”

  “You don’t understand what I’m saying.” She cut him off.

  “Then what do you mean?”

  “I’m not angry at him for the situation in general, Jacob,” she said. “My anger toward him is very specific.” She turned to face him. Her eyes were wet, but hard. “I’m pissed he stopped me. That I didn’t get to shoot that silver-eyed son of a bitch.”

  That admission was not among the many things Jacob expected to hear from Eriane. Her rage in the moment was understandable, after the silver-eyed man had attempted to kill them. The rage still lingered, marring her young features and stripping Jacob of any child-like or innocent image he still held of her.

  “Oh, Eri…” he said, not sure how to continue.

  She jumped to her feet and turned on him. Her face flushed with anger, but there was something altogether different than what he’d seen in her the night before.

  “Don’t ‘oh, Eri’ me, Jacob,” she said. “I had him. Right then, right there. This could all be over.”

  “Do you honestly think he’s the only one interested in Samuel?” Jacob ran a hand over his mouth and dropped his eyes. “Kill him, and there’ll be another one right behind him, right up until we can figure out exactly why Samuel’s being followed in the first place. Besides, you don’t need to be in such a hurry to kill someone, Eri. Trust me.”

  “Even if it means stopping them from trying to kill us?”

  “Yeah, actually,” Jacob said. “Even then.”

  “I don’t understand you, Jacob,” Eri snapped. “You were the one up on that cliff, trying to drop a mountainside on their heads, and now you’re telling me I shouldn’t have shot him?”

  Jacob stood up and looked Eri directly in the eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you, kid. I’m not saying we weren’t looking for the same result, but I am saying you don’t need to be so eager to get it done. It doesn’t matter what it benefits you in the end, killing someone is something you never get rid of. It’ll hang with you for the rest of your life. It may get you out of one hole, but it damned sure puts you right in another.”

  Eri stood silent and still, a small shake revealing how hard she was holding onto the furrow of her brow and the set of her jaw. Jacob looked back at her with equal intensity, but broke first and sat down.

  “Besides, you don’t need Pare seeing that if he doesn’t absolutely have to,” Jacob said. “We got out of there in one piece, and that’s good enough for one day.”

  Eriane’s shoulders sank a little more with each breath, until she sat next to him. “I don’t need you guys to protect me from adulthood,” she said in a small voice.

  The comment took Jacob aback. “It’s already too late for that, Eri,” he said. “This has nothing to do with being an adult. If or when you need to take that shot, you’ll know it. But don’t seek it out. And don’t be angry at Samuel for delaying it—you should revel in that, because who knows how much time he bought you.”

  • • • • •

  An early evening meant an early start, and they were up and on their way just as the western sky began to lighten. Not long after they set out, the road began climbing, a shallow grade, but uphill nonetheless. Campsites became more common, in gullies and caves, and even one built as a viewpoint over a wide part of the canyon, surrounded by a low stone wall.

  Samuel spent both day and night in quiet contemplation, piecing together as many memories as he could access. The murdered woman was a recent vision, and he made the short leap of logic it was the reason he was being followed. There were any number of his newfound memories that could warrant his fugitive status, but none were so vivid. It was one of the most recent memories he could conjure—at least that’s how it felt—so it would stand to reason everything he’d been through was triggered by this one event.

  What worried him was the disconnectedness of all the memories. He’d started comparing all the visions he’d received to his own memories—the recent ones he knew for fact were his own—and none of them felt…whole. Seeing the memories of so many other constructs had Samuel wondering if he’d ever get back any of his own. Were his memories—the ones experienced and gathered by this body, this core, from before the fire—still in there somewhere, or were they gone forever? Sifting through the ages of emotionless images that twittered around his mind made him feel like he was standing in some foreign land, learning a whole new language and culture from scratch. In a way, that’s exactly what he was doing.

  No matter how hard he concentrated on the woman and her killer, he couldn’t connect the timeline of his visions, and there were still gaps he wasn’t able to fill. Her face was the one unifying image. So clear and complete, so easy to study, to memorize. Every line in her pleading eyes, the shape of her whispering mouth, the smears of blood on her cheeks, were all burned into his waking vision. At no point, however, was he able to get a clear view of her murderer, his face so masked in shadow and gore. All he knew were the clear whites of dark eyes that bore into him from under a curtain of matted hair. He had no doubt if ever he were to look upon those eyes, he’d know exactly who he’d found.

  It was the identity of the woman that haunted him, though. Could this be the Queen Consort herself, and could these be the memories of the construct believed to be her murderer? If that were true, the very knowledge within him could exonerate the framed construct, and bring to light a new killer. That knowledge alone warranted the pursuit, and putting it all together was beginning to give Samuel the smallest inkling of the scope of his danger.

  If this was the Queen Consort, then why was she murdered? Who was the mysterious killer, and why was a construct framed for the crime? At camp the next night Samuel presented his theory to the group, who listened and shared his concern. According to Jacob, Samuel’s description of the murder matched the whispered rumors of the circumstances of the Queen Consort’s death, the details that were much too graphic to make public but had found their way into circles of people in the know. Samuel’s theory, and the very real likelihood he was right, meant their pursuers would be desperate to keep him quiet, to erase the knowledge he’d been gifted.

  The other implication, the one Samuel didn’t voice, was that his pursuers somehow knew the knowledge had been transferred to him, which meant the process by which it occurred must be more than simple coincidence. If they were following him, they must know how he was connected to the other constructs whose memories he’d acquired. Worse yet, the fact that they were tracking down and destroying other constructs meant the others had been granted similar knowledge, and must have a much deeper connection to Samuel than happenstance.

  In a way, knowing there were other constructs like him, and connected to him, was comforting. Although the three people with whom he camped had become genuine companions, if not outright friends, his disconnection from other constructs had seeded him with a deep sense of loneliness. If there were other constructs in the world that could receive memories like he could, maybe there were others with the type of emotions that made him unique. That connection also meant he wasn’t just being followed. He—and every other construct of his kind—were being hunted and systematically eradicated, all to protect the identity of a murderer and maintain the façade that the Queen Consort’s death came at the hands of a construct.

  The more Samuel mulled over the idea, the angrier he became. He wondered why Icariascus had kept silent instead revealing his nature and helping him to find his place. Was the threat so dangerous Samuel couldn’t even trust his own kind?

  Through their travels the next day he fumed in silence, sifting through every fractured memory he’d acquired to try and fill the gap
s in the story, to bring his recollection to a coherent whole. Sorting the memories felt more and more like someone had tumbled hundreds of puzzles together, handed Samuel a fraction of the pieces, and asked him to sort out which ones went together. Without the rest of the information, even out of order, trying to make sense of the fragments was nearly impossible.

  Samuel trudged forward at the head of the group, oblivious to all but maintaining his walking pace. The mountains, the snow, his companions, and even his destination faded away, leaving only his singular drive to make sense of the images. To find a killer.

  Samuel wasn’t aware of how much time had passed when Eriane stepped into his path, breaking his fugue by forcing him to stop and acknowledge her. When he inquired why she’d stopped him, she only turned to look, drawing his eyes to one of the most amazing sights in his all-too-limited experience.

  The gates of Kelef.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  * * *

  Kelef stood much like Eriane’s description, but with a grandeur her words could never have conveyed. The canyon cut deep through the center of the city, narrowing toward the far end and terminating into a steep cliff face. Jagged, snow-covered peaks surrounded them on all sides like giant, natural crenellations. The first visible structure on the approach to the city was an immense archway that extended across the chasm, housing a wide city gate before them on the road and disappearing into the rockface on the opposing side of the canyon.

  The archway formed by the gate bridge framed a stunning picture of the city, built of granite structures that seemed hewn directly from the mountainside. The setting sun glittered in the surface of stone buildings arranged in layers of angled terraces, reminiscent of striations in broken rock, all of which climbed upward from the archway toward the opposing end. At the end of it all, past the last of many bridges connecting the two sides of the canyon, a tall, thin waterfall emerged from the base of a massive fortress that burrowed into the crease between two mountains and stood vigil over the city below.

  Samuel was rooted to the bend in the road, looking up at Kelef with a mixture of anticipation, awe, and relief. In the previous days, their journey had become excruciating, a long trudge toward an unknown goal. Their destination being made real before him was overwhelming. The city was astonishing, not just in its presence but its beauty, accentuated by a fresh round of falling snow.

  “Wow,” Eriane said, the first to speak.

  “You can say that again” Jacob said, his eyes never leaving the sight ahead of them.

  “Wow.”

  That drew a smirk and a sidelong glance from Jacob, which was met by a mischievous grin and a glint in Eriane’s eye Samuel was glad to see. A genuine smile had been rare since their encounter with their pursuers, so a moment of true relaxation was as welcome a sight as the city spread out before them.

  One by one they broke their stances, advancing on the road toward their first sign of civilization since leaving Mane’s cabin. Samuel was the last, taking in the sight of the city that likely contained not only the answers to all his questions, but the key to his identity—maybe even his salvation.

  “So, how do we find this Acthemenius?” Samuel asked.

  “Whoa, hold up there,” Jacob said. “I know you’re eager, Samuel, but I need a bath. And a hot meal, and a bed, and perhaps some nice company for the evening. I don’t even want to think of this Acthemenius until I’ve”—a pause, as his eyes flicked toward Eriane—“slept.”

  The group of them stopped not too far from the gate, which stood open with a minimal guard. “As much as it pains me to say this,” Pare said, “I have to agree with Jacob. Aside from the simple desire to be clean and rested, none of us are in any condition for research right now.”

  Samuel said nothing. As foolish as he knew it was, he felt resentful of their needs. He could set off into the city himself, if he so chose, not needing the rest his companions required, and find the answers he had traveled so far to seek. Maybe it was best to let them head off to some inn to bathe and sleep in a feather bed while he investigated on his own. They’ve been with you this far, Samuel. Don’t deny them the whole purpose of their journey over simple impatience. Acthemenius could wait.

  Samuel nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “Let’s find some place for you all to sleep. In the morning we can try to find the woman Mane sent us after, and maybe she can help us find Acthemenius.” The group nodded their assent, and as they turned to enter the city, a voice rang out from the street on just the other side of the gate. “Kaleb?”

  A thin older man wearing a fur-lined winter jacket approached them through the gate. Jacob turned at the mention of his alter-ego.

  “Sorrell?” Jacob said.

  “Kaleb!” the man repeated. He approached the group, extended a friendly hand toward Jacob. The two grasped forearms like old friends, pulling each other into a brief but familiar embrace. Eriane turned a confused expression to Pare to which he responded with a shrug.

  Jacob backed away from Sorrell, looking him up and down. “What in the name of all the Vells are you doing in Kelef?” Jacob said.

  “Would you believe I live here now?” Sorrell replied, holding his hands out to his sides.

  “No, honestly,” Jacob replied. “I would not believe that.”

  “Well, that’s what’s happened,” Sorrell replied, stepping back to take full measure of Jacob. He shook his head. “You look like a Padorean vagrant!” he said with a jovial smirk.

  “You would not believe what I’ve been through in the last few weeks,” Jacob said. Pare coughed, and Jacob swung around as though he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. “Oh! Everyone, this is an old…business partner of mine, Sorrell Antenum. Sorrell, this is Pariadnus…”

  Pare nodded, and Sorrell returned the gesture.

  “…Eriane…”

  Eriane eked out a weary smile. “M’lady,” Sorrell said, with a shallow bow. As he righted himself, he shot a questioning glance at Jacob.

  “…and our servant construct Jethaltanon. You can call him Jeth, for short.” Samuel wondered where Jacob had pulled the name from this time. At least ‘Jeth’ would be easy to remember, and he hoped Pare and Eriane caught on.

  Sorrell’s appraisal of Samuel was quick and harsh. “Where did you pick this one up?” he said with a snort. “This might be the oldest construct I’ve ever seen! How much did his previous owner pay you to take him?” As a sarcastic afterthought, Sorrell turned to Samuel and added, “No offense, of course.”

  “None taken,” Samuel replied, which drew a double-take from Sorrell.

  “Don’t let his looks fool you,” Jacob said. “He’s been a workhorse ever since we met.” Jacob gave Samuel a sidelong smile. “He’s practically indestructible.”

  “Hey, whatever you say,” Sorrell replied. “I know it’s been a long time since we saw each other, but I always thought you ran alone?”

  “Yeah, well, I always thought you’d be in Balefor until your dying day,” Jacob said. “I guess things change some times, huh?”

  “That they do,” Sorrell said. He paused, and shook his head, looking back at Jacob again. “Look at you. You almost look like a grown up now!”

  Jacob laughed. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you still look like the same haggard old fool as always.”

  “Ha! Well, you know what they say about age and treachery, my boy,” Sorrell said. “Why don’t you and your crew here come stay with me tonight? It’s a bit of a walk, but I’m sure it can’t be any worse than getting here.”

  Jacob raised his hands. “Oh, we shouldn’t impose. We can find an inn for the night.”

  “I insist!” Sorrell said. “I’ve got comfortable guest quarters and floors that can withstand your canner’s weight.”

  “I don’t know,” Jacob said, looking back to the group. Eriane’s face was painted with an expectant grin, and even Pare’s eyes were a little wider than normal.

  “I have a full bath and the means to run it hot.”
>
  Before Jacob could reply, Eriane skirted around him and took Sorrell’s arm. “Well, if you insist,” she said, “then how could we possibly refuse?”

  The two of them turned and began walking up the street. Eriane looked over her shoulder with a satisfied grin and nodded for them to catch up. Jacob scoffed just as Pare approached him.

  “Can we trust him?” Pare asked. The tone of skepticism was unmistakable.

  “About as much as I can trust anyone,” Jacob said. “So watch yourselves.”

  • • • • •

  “So,” Sorrell said between laughs, “he comes stumbling out the back door, half-naked, drenched from head to toe, runs right into a lamp post—”

  “The soap was getting in my eyes,” Jacob interjected.

  “—and, not five seconds later, a lovely young lady by the name of…oh, what was her name?”

  “Muriel.”

  “Right! Muriel slams the door open and is also soaked, and—in an impressively athletic moment, I might add—nails Kaleb right in the back of the head with one of his own shoes!”

  Everyone—even Pare, wincing in pain as he did—was laughing. Jacob had given Samuel some coaching on acting like a normal construct, which included keeping his laughter in check. Forcing himself to stay quiet was a price he was willing to pay in exchange for seeing the rest of them have a genuine moment of joviality.

  “I guess I’d forgotten one in her room,” Jacob laughed. “I was just happy she gave it back!”

  Sorrell, in spite of Jacob’s warning, had offered overwhelming hospitality. His house, a two-story marble building in one of the higher terraces of Kelef, was an impressive home befitting Sorrell’s high station. They were bathed and fed, and now gathered in a comfortable sitting room drinking wine and coffee and listening to Jacob and Sorrell reminisce.

  The smile on Pare’s face was as close to unguarded cheer as Samuel had seen from the boy, and Eriane was laughing so hard she teared up. “Oh, I’m not even sure these are things I wanted to know about J-Kaleb.”